


The Exposure Therapist

by Semi_Weird_Shipper



Series: Weirdo's Transformers Stories [20]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Dubious Consent, Friendship/Love, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Multi-story fic, Oral Sex, Past Abuse, Phobias, Recovery, Requited Love, Size Difference, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Therapy, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:48:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22840504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Semi_Weird_Shipper/pseuds/Semi_Weird_Shipper
Summary: A bunch of one shots revolving around the plot line of Megatron being an exposure therapist who takes care of different patients in different ways.
Relationships: Megatron/Bumblebee, Megatron/Swerve (Transformers)
Series: Weirdo's Transformers Stories [20]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1744708
Comments: 13
Kudos: 61





	1. Swerve's Squabble

**Author's Note:**

> So I had a crazy idea where Megatron became a good guy and decided to make up for his treachery by helping bots get over their fears. Of course it's not the same rules as actual exposure therapy, but hey, it's a fun idea. Different Transformers Fandoms may be used.

Ever since the war ended and the autobots granted him another chance in the real world, Megatron had been trying to discover new ways to both redeem himself and other bots. At first he tried hard labor, doing work that involved tough effort and lots of time to complete. It worked well for a while. Some mechs seemed particularly fond of pushing him to whatever limits they could, wearing him out, starving him, making him physically collapse. It was tragic, but he took it like the punishment he so dearly deserved. In due time, however, friends and old acquaintances he was able to make grew to know him and his better behalf and decided that maybe the hard core labor he was being exposed to for so long might have been a bit too extreme. So they came up with a new strategy for him to make up for his long years of treachery.

Exposure Therapy.

For five stellar cycles Megatron had been doing it now. Cybertron actually considered him to be one of the greatest in his fields. Flattering as it may be, Megatron didn't take it like the punishment he thought he deserved. In fact, being presented somewhat unwilling valves as a way to exploit positivity seemed kind of wrong and way too generous. He truly wasn't that comfortable with it. But medics and close friends like Rung and Ratchet helped him pull through, and now he was dealing with patients in and out as the weeks went by.

This week he had been graced the presence of a very small, timid minibot who was considered very fragile and paranoid. Megatron wasn't one to not appreciate anyone, but his smaller patients were always the ones hardest to make comfortable. They often ended up leaving or ending the whole trial, simply apologizing and requesting to set up another appointment. Megatron learned not to mind.

Apparently his new patient was one of Rung's as were very many of the previous ones he's had, but that was only because they were a team in this situation, and Rung was always considering his therapy to more trust distressed patients. It was how he got the job and title in the first place. If it hadn't been for Rung, he would probably be in the fields working on construction for all eternity.

Megatron gave a court smile as he lifted out the new bot's file and read through his precautions, recommendations and summary. Most bots had a cringy history that made Megatron’s already guilt driven spark throb, but some times he just felt so bad that he decided not to read their stories because he wasn't sure if he could muster the mental stamina to make them feel better even though it was mostly his fault they were traumatized in the first place. Like other things, he had learned to get over that dilemma as well, because this wasn't about him. It was about the lives he helped to destroy.

"Swerve," The file gave many of the bot's height and description. He was a minibot. Megatron made a face. He never usually got many of those. He wasn't necessarily minibot material, but once he read the bot's summary of why exactly he was there, Megatron came to understand more.

'Swerve; unconsciously forced to interface by three (now confined) decepticons, valve and gesture chamber split opened through the tank, ruined circuitry, torn energon lines, broken arm, dislocated jaw, and a busted thigh.'

Megatron, led by the aching pull of his throbbing spark, looked down and read over the many medical procedures the poor minibot had to go through just to even walk again. He was suffering from paranoia, anxiety, sleep paralysis, haphephobia and genophobia. His physical recovery lasted nearly a year, yet his mental stability was far from being fixed.

Megatron lowered the file with stiff digits. It wasn't anywhere near as bad as he's had. There had been bots who were so far gone and had lists so big of mental health issues, Megatron was sad to say that even he could not help them. He looked up and grabbed a pen, giving it a gentle turn before bending back over and signing his name in Cybertronian print, agreeing to the mech's terms and conditions.

After he signed his name, Megatron sat back and gazed at the folder, apologizing to Optimus Prime for what must have been the hundred-millionth time. Yes, he ruined yet another bot, but he was going to try his hardest to bring him back just like he tried with every one else. He just wished that his old friend were here so that he could show him how hard he was trying, and how hard he would keep trying even after all his mess had been cleared.

Standing up, Megatron grabbed an energon cube from his cabinet and slowly walked over to his office door. Carefully opening the quiet metal slab, his red optics scanned the patient room as he gently said out loud, "Swerve?"

In the back of the somewhat crowded medical waiting room, there shuffled a little blur of red and white. A dim blue visor flashed in his direction before pointing to the ground as the body carrying it moved. Megatron watched how the minibot approached, taking notice to his fumbling and how he avoided optic contact with anyone. He seemed particularly aware of where the bigger mechs were sitting and did a quietly good job moving a good ways away from them while walking by.

Politely, Megatron pushed open the door and let the hesitant, timid autobot pass through. After they were inside the comfortable simplicity of his office, Megatron made a gentle engine rumble and looked down at his patient. "Good evening, Swerve," He said softly and gestured to the door, "Do you prefer the door to be locked or unlocked?"

The bot quickly turned around to face him, his wide optics having been studying the room were now gazing up at him in wordless awe and a dash of fear. "U-unlocked please?" He spoke softly, his red servos coming up to fumble together against his chassis.

Giving off a kind smile, Megatron nodded and lifted out the cube of energon. "How do you feel today?" He asked.

"Oh- ah, thank you, I uh... didn't expect- or I mean...!" The minibot visibly bit his lower derma and gazed away at the wall after he took the cube with trembling servos. A noticeable blush covered his smooth white cheeks. Megatron was guessing it was out of fear and embarrassment. "I'm alright, I'm just a... little nervous I guess, I mean I'm really not sure if this is entirely a good idea. Rung said it was but I don't know... I'm really... I'm really afraid and I-I don't wanna...."

After letting him drift off into in a shamed cloud of apprehension, Megatron offered his greatest understanding smile and slowly lifted his servo up in a gesture of good intent. "Whatever you decide to do, Swerve, I will be more than happy to support your decision."

"I... I know it's just that... Well I really... am... not sure what to do," Swerve shuffled on his peds and shifted the drink around in his anxious servos, his face twisted in a flinch of pain, "I just don't know."

"I'm here to do whatever you want me to do, Swerve," Megatron stated in his gentle, caring tone, "I will not do anything that you do not want me to. I am here to help you, to do as you say as long as it benefits you."

The bot's optics, somewhat noticeable behind his dim visor, grew downcast and his body slumped as he stared at the floor. Megatron waited a moment. Many patients had this same type of reaction to first meeting him. He was used to it by now. Usually all it took was a little silence and they figured out the rest by themselves. But there were times when patients needed a little push.

After a few moments, nothing happened. Megatron made up his mind and slowly, in the simplest way possible, kneeled to the ground so that maybe he wouldn't appear to be so intimidating. The bot stumbled backwards as expected, his optics wide and panicked and cube nearly slipping out his servos. Megatron simply stayed still as he grew adjusted to the position on the ground, giving the bot every chance of escape and enough room to wander if needed. He watched the bot struggle to place the cube down on the table, and offered another kind smile.

"If you do not mind, Swerve, I'd like to ask you a question," Megatron said and waited a moment before continuing when the minorly confused autobot nodded, "Why are you here?"

As expected, the autobot grew a look of shock on his face and his visor brightened. Clearly he was not expecting that question. Not very many did. The look on the minibot's face alternated between that of surprise and bashfulness. His large red servos twiddled nervously together as he glanced away, cheeks dark blue. "Well..." He said softly.

Megatron didn't pressure him. He merely stayed put where he was and continued to wear his kind smile.

"I wanted to... After what happened I thought I could move on but..." Swerve looked down at his peds, arms folding around himself in a self hug of protection, "They were big bots an-and you're a big bot, so I thought maybe... if we.... Primus, I don't know."

Megatron watched as the minibot buried his face in his servos, clearly flustered and unsure about what he wanted to say. Several patients in the past had acted in similar ways for their embarrassment, fear and humiliation was strong. In a way, Megatron found it amusing how shy some patients could get, but he would never openly let his gratification show. He cared about all his patients and would make sure that they were always comfortable.

"I'm tired of being afraid," Swerve muffled into his palms before rubbing his optics in distress, "I-I've missed so many opportunities because I let my fear drive them away. A-and I'm tired of driving them away. I wanna be able to trust again, but I just... can't. I'm too afraid of being hurt again."

Impressed with his admittance, Megatron lifted his helm and gave off a gentle look. "That's what I'm here for, Swerve. You may think that every time someone touches you it's going to hurt, but it doesn't have to be that way," He smiled at the end and nodded, "I know what happened to you and I know what you want, and I'll always support whatever you decide to do if you allow me to advance, but first... I need to know that you are comfortable. Are you comfortable, Swerve?"

The minibot's optics grew wide and sad, his vents hitching as he stared up at the bigger mech. He looked to be debating, like his processor was having a mental war between the rights and wrongs of the situation. His bowed helm and blue cheeks spoke the answer before his voice even could. "Y-yeah..." His digits fiddled together in front of him as he gazed timidly at the ground, "Yeah, I'm comfortable, I'm just... I don't know- I mean I know that you won't hurt me because it's literally your job not to hurt me and you could get prosecuted for doing anything I don't want which doesn't seem worth it because I am a minibot after all, but still I just can't...."

"Its alright to be afraid, Swerve," Megatron's voice was as smooth and as undemanding as the warmest electric current, "You've been through a lot. It's understandable that someone who has experienced the things you have might be nervous about exploiting themselves to something that highly reminds them of what they have been through. You don't have to say- much less even know what it is that is holding you back. All you have to do is decide what you want and when you are ready."

Swerve's derma plating trembled as he looked up at the big x-decepticon, his optics sad and yet full of stricken disbelief. He tapped his digits together and fumbled with his muttered words softly for a moment before admitting quietly. "I am ready. I've been ready for so long- I just...." He lowered his helm and palmed his face, muttering, "I want you to start and... not stop. Please. I-I can't trust myself enough not to freak o-or let my fear ruin my chances of finally having a clear processor. I need... I need you to start and not stop no matter what I say... or do."

Megatron felt the answer wash over and through him. It settled like high grade engex, the inviting victory lasting long in his systems. Most patients didn't have the circuits to upright say what they wanted from him. He usually had to wait a few more appointments and coax the answer out after a few nice drinks and gentle conversations. Swerve's file, like all others, gave all the personal details of what he wanted to achieve in his exposure therapy. Honestly, Megatron was impressed by the minibot's recommendations and all after he had been violated by three mechs that were almost as big as he himself was. Despite having years of regular therapy by Rung, the minibot was still having trouble with going through with relationships and touches. Megatron had had several patients of the same or similar situation.

"I can't force myself on you, Swerve," Megatron pointed out, "If you tell me to stop, then I will stop. I won't do anything you don't want me to."

"That's the problem though!" Swerve said in a higher pitched voice as he grabbed his helm with one servo while waving out the other, "I don't want you to stop even if I do freak out because when I freak out then it's over an-and I can't keep letting that happen! I've driven away everyone no matter how hard I try to let them touch me. I just can't let them get over that stupid wall that prevents them from going any further. I... I need you to break it for me... Please... break that wall."

Megatron smiled. Rung's helpful words were practically etched into that whole confession. Clearly he had had his own vocal achievements with the minibot. Megatron would be sure to congratulate him later. For now, he went with standing back to his peds and taking a step forward. Swerve and he both had already agreed to the terms of the agreement form. They knew what to do.

"W-wait," Swerve stepped back, his servos lifted once he realized what was finally going to happen, "Wait, I-I'm not-I..." He gasped when his back hit the cool wall behind him, and he turned around, bringing his servos to his mouth and whimpering.

Megatron’s big, hulking frame came to a stop right in front of him, it's mass a skyscraper blocking all traces of the sun with its tremendous bulk. He gazed down at the cowering minibot and merely stared for a moment, a gentleness in his dark red optics. Swerve was a delicate little creature, but tough at the same time. Megatron was surprised by his spry behavior. Most minibots wouldn't even talk to him because of the differences and distrust between them. He thought, maybe, that this might just be an easy victory.

As he kneeled down, Swerve whimpered again and tried to press further back against the wall, his frame shaking lightly. He was frightened, that much was true, but there also seemed to be something else there. A hint of determination perhaps. It was obviously something keeping him from running away in terror. Megatron observed him closely, creating analysis inside his processor.

Then without notice or call, Megatron suddenly reached his servos out and grabbed the minibot. Swerve, as expected, released a high pitched squeal and immediately tensed under the small touch. "Oh-oh Primus, I-I can't."

Megatron didn't say anything nor did he move away. In fact, he went further with his notions. With Swerve trembling nervously in his light hold, Megatron leaned forward, cupping the minibot's shoulder with one servo while using the other to gently stroke his blue tinted cheek, and vented hot ventilations across his fear etched face before placing a small, gentle kiss on his other cheek. From there, he trailed his lips all the way down to the minibot's jaw in which had been shattered the very last time anyone had touched him. And as much as the bot's stinging tears of fright tore part of him in half, Megatron continued to gently kiss and trail his lips over and under the bot's tender jaw line.

Swerve remained a whimpering, terrified mess, unable to do anything other than stay on the sharp edge of hyperventilating. The big servos holding his sides seemed to be enough to crush him into half an ugly bar if they wanted to, but were merely resting there, azured and comfortable, like they would never mean no ill way. He shook and vented out an uneven sob as thick, careful lips kept on coating his jaw and cheeks with feather light kisses. It was so different from what the other mechs did to him....

"I'm going to pick you up, Swerve," Megatron said in a steady vent as he pulled away.

Swerve whimpered and shook his helm up at him despite the intense tingles running down his spinal networking. "No... Please no," He trembled.

Megatron did not oblige. Instead, he used his surprising power and agility against the minibot by circling his arms around his back and hoisting him up against his chest. Swerve, like last time, squealed again and held onto the bigger mech's neck for support as he was leaned against his big, powerful chassis. He trembled, staring baffled at the ground and how far away it was as they walked off into another room. Huge, warm servo that seemed as if they could rip the finest steel apart held him up by the lower back, and when one of them came up to rest on the back of his head, rubbing the sensitive armor there gently, Swerve couldn't help but to meekly whimper. The other bots hadn't done anything like this. They just carried him upside down by his ped....

Megatron closed and locked the door to his patient chambers and walked over to the nice, clean, comfortable berth. As he went, he continued to keep rubbing the minibot's upper back and helm, achieving small victories every time he relaxed or whimpered in kind. "I'm going to set you down now," He instructed and began to slowly descend the minibot down to the soft berth below.

Swerve looked up at him with his bright, iridescent blue visor. "Please, don't tell me what you're going to do every time," He nearly whispered.

Megatron almost cracked a smile, "But if I don't, then you'll keep telling me to stop."

Swerve blushed, "Yeah, but I don't want you to tell me b-because then I'll know an-and I'll freak out tens times worse thinking it'll hurt and this whole thing will be ruined! I-I don't want it to be ruined- I-I mean you've been so nice already, a-and I'm afraid I'll screw that up and-"

"Shh," Megatron closed his optics and shook his helm once before opening them back up, red light ghosting over the distraught minibot, "Swerve, do not worry yourself over a failed appointment. As long as you are still willing, I will always be more than happy to help you achieve your goal. Now... why not relax and try to tell me what you like."

"What I like?" Swerve whispered, scooting back on the rather soft, inviting berth.

"Yes," Megatron's soothing voice cooed, "How do you like to be touched?"

Swerve's visor flashed and his cheeks turned dark blue. He brought his red servos up to his mouth and gasped at the question. "I-I don't know," He struggled to find the right words, "I don't know, I haven't ever been asked that before. Maybe I...."

"That's alright. You don't have to know, but... do you have an idea of how you would like to be touched?"

Swerve gazed down at the edge of the silvery berth and the grey covers there, feeling a sharpness ping inside his chest. No one had ever asked him that before. It was nice but at the same time distressing. He had no idea what to say or if he'd be able to.

"Some times I wonder if- I think about... what if someone were to... to touch me, but be... be gentle and... not hurt me," Swerve muffled the last bit into his servos and cowered amongst himself.

Megatron hummed at his broken but manageable answer. "You mean like this?" He asked and reached out, trailing one of his palms up the minibot's smooth, chubby thigh.

Swerve gasped and jerked at the motion, his body instinctively tightening up in apprehension. "No, wait- I mean..." He chewed on his lower derma plate as his digits threaded into the berth covers.

Megatron’s engine rumbled soothingly as he leaned forward and trailed his other servo up and down Swerve's right thigh as his free servo moved up his trembling waist. It was the gentlest of touches but yet it sent the minibot into a shaking, whimpering mess. He shook and tried to touch Megatron’s servos with the intention of pushing him away or stop his lingering touch but was too frightened and stupefied to react properly. He couldn't decide what to think as he really wanted this all to stop with the fear that searing pain could happen at any second, and yet he wanted to continue on with the gentle, kind touches forever and ever. 

Swerve, optics offlining, shuddered and leaned back, his body tense. Megatron took this as his chance to progress forward. He moved upwards, rubbing small, smooth circles gently into the minibot's trembling armor. He massaged the small expanse of his waist and chest, his big fingers making everything all the more easy to touch and feel. He lowered himself, listening to every whimper, every gasp and groan. Swerve's body shifted beneath him. For a moment, Megatron thought he might fall back ungracefully, so he helped to ease him into the sheets, back straight and legs spread.

Megatron moved a servo in between those chubby, trembling thighs and rubbed, soothing the tense, rattling armor with his professional touch. Minibots were delicate little things, and needed to be treated with precise care. Megatron loomed over him. Swerve whimpered, his optics still closed. "Please," He whimpered and groaned when Megatron kissed at his neck.

Megatron breathed out steam, letting it wash over the squirming autobot as he gently kissed one spot after another on Swerve's sensitive neck. He made the sounds audible and the feeling wet and sensational, letting a sliver of his glossa out to stimulate the warming cables beneath his thick lips. Swerve's legs tapped against his chassis and his servos reached out to grip his own tingling neck as he made new kinds of whimpering noises.

"Oh, I...." Swerve touched Megatron’s servos and clenched his denta, "Oh- _mmh_."

Megatron allowed a graze of his denta plates to gently scrape across the delicate wires of Swerve's neck and hid a smile at his high pitched moan of surprise. "Please!" He begged and squirmed beneath him.

Megatron stared down at his bright, wide optics as his servo continued to gently squeeze and massage his small, warm thighs. Swerve whimpered and plopped back, swallowing a lump in his throat and staring up at the ceiling in disbelief, wonder and terror. Megatron allowed the moment to settle before leaning back down again and planting another trail of small, gentle kisses down his chest and tank.

The action served to make the timid autobot jerk and tremble, his vocals caught between uneven ventilations and sounds of pleasure. He tried to stay quiet as his thighs which had been dented to near scrap the last time they had ever been touched were now being gently fondled and touched by servos that could crush them in an instant. He whimpered at the thought of it happening again and imagined the pain it could cause, about ready to call it all quits until Megatron suddenly moved upwards and slid his servo behind his helm.

And before he knew it, big, soft, warm lips were connected with his own trembling ones. Megatron's optics were half mast as he sucked softly on Swerve's lower lip, their lubricants just barely sliding across each other's metal. Megatron let go of the trembling lip within his own for only a split second before going back in again, this time catching the upper one and giving it a small swipe of his glossa.

Swerve squealed again in surprise and fear, squirming around, gripping onto the bigger mech's shoulders. He arched, seeing stars and the light from Megatron's dim, dark red optics washing through him. The servo in which cupped his entire helm rubbed soothingly against his tense plates, and he found himself discovering wonder in the intense situation. With great hesitancy, Swerve parted his lips just a little bit more only to wince when Megatron’s mouth shifted against him, sucking on his lip again. It was warm, Swerve realized, warm and moist and gentle. It made his lower back tingle in ways he had never been able to imagine.

Megatron ran his other servo up and down the minibot's chest and tank, giving him gentle rubs and squeezes with every turn of his lips. He offlined his optics and smooched smooth cheek plates in different areas before returning to those small, trembling lips and intersecting. This time, Swerve didn't whimper, but rather opened his mouth to suck on Megatron’s own upper lip. Surprised, Megatron hid his emotions by allowing the bold minibot to advance, feeling his tiny, shaking servo carefully tapping on top his own. Megatron shifted his palm outwards and felt his spark glide as that tiny servo snook in between his own digits.

Holding servos wasn't often a technique many patients liked to use. In fact, it seemed to repell most. Megatron tried to never question why. The most he'd ever gotten an answer of was someone telling him that it was too much of an intimate exploitation. But as was a lot of things he did, he thought but never openly questioned.

Swerve separated with a soft noise, lowering his helm to the side as if to hide his bright cheeks. "M-Megatron?" He whispered softly. 

"Yes, Swerve?" Megatron replied softly, his optics and posture calm.

Swerve twiddled his digits around anxiously. "C-could you do-do the thing where you... you know... pin me and..." He trailed off and tensed up, sighing shakily as he closed his optics in defeat, "H-have your w-way."

It was words Megatron didn't think he'd get to hear this session.


	2. Bumblebee's Broken Spark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Megatron is graced the presence of Optimus Prime's widowed lover, Bumblebee.

Appointment recommendations came usually day in and day out for him. By the end of each stressful day, Megatron checked his manual messages sent in from other fellow therapists and doctors like his dearest friends Rung, Ratchet and Fix-it. He got about ten a day at least, and all he could do was try and approve the patients who seemed to be in most need. Some times he didn't have enough room on his schedule for too many sessions, and needed to require them another exposure therapist. However, he had become one of the most famous therapists in the land nowadays. Refusing new recommendations was habit and so was postponing old ones. He didn't necessarily like doing it, but it did give him a short break for himself.

With all due respect, Megatron empathized with all his patients, but there were a few who's phobias were just a bit too ironic and obviously self solvable. There were even a few cases when the bots didn't even have problems and were merely pretending just to get into his panels. And as flattering as it had been at first, it nearly destroyed his reputation and a large portion of his friends turned away from him. In that moment, Megatron realized fully that his job wasn't about him but his patients, and he couldn't take advantage of his given privileges by thinking of those times as easy, selfish frag releases.

It was the only action that put a large, gaping scratch across his therapeutic reputation, and he had suffered the loss greatly. It took nearly a year to get back to his good self, and patients began spreading his name around again. Relieved as he was, he couldn't help but to grieve and rock back and forth in his guilt. Sure, bots still came to him for help, but there were probably so many who were refusing to go to him because they still believed he was a deranged, disgusting, self absorbed tyrant. And they were right to think so. He didn't blame them. Which is why it was so surprising that his newest patient was seeking therapy from he himself.

Bumblebee. Optimus Prime's beloved, and now widowed lover; a bot famously known for that soul reason even before the war was over.

Megatron remembered a time whenever he had been viciously determined to hunt down Optimus Prime's little, dumb, sappy partner just so he could threaten to torment him, take all the information and goods he could, giving away false intent and then snuffing the little oil leaks spark right out in front of his precious lover's face. Of course, he was a different mech then, and he didn't understand why a prime like Optimus would stoop as low as a small, fragile, weak minibot for a romantic partner, but he learned through the years of failure trying to get his own paws on the little beetle that nothing would ever come between them, and that only made Bumblebee even more valuable. Megatron had tried several times to get a hold of the yellow minibot, but with no prevail. Bumblebee was all Optimus'.

And Megatron was the biggest reason why the fragger died.

Megatron gazed lifelessly down at the file in his limp servos, confusion and bewilderment frying his circuits up in disbelief. Bumblebee's picture showed his perfectly bright, glistening armor, his slimmed formation and genuine, kind smile. He looked professional, innocent and brave, like anyone could hit him with a missile and all he would do is shake it off, give good greetings and forgive the shooters as if it had all been an accident they made him believe was true. He was small and yet showed strong intent. His name was one highly looked up to. Even Starscream gave him praise for his work back on Cybertron. He was practically a legend and yet... he was seeking therapy from him?

Megatron couldn’t understand it. The whole ordeal was baffling and didn't make any sense. He eagerly read over the bot's description and summary, trying to figure out the hidden kinks of why exactly he wanted a session with him. He wasn't any patient of Rungs or Ratchets. In all odds, he wasn’t even a patient of any kind of therapy at all. Usually every bot who wanted exposure therapy was or had already been going through some kind of other therapy. It was just first class decisions. A law of the jungle. And Megatron's expectations were shot down in a horribly confusing way. 

The old x-warlord gazed down intently at the folder within his servos, his red optics sharp and focused. Bumblebee's recommendations were brief and somewhat dull, unlike many of the several troubled patients he's had before. He simply seemed to be suffering from ptsd and depression. His goal for the session; _being able to feel again._ It was probably the least descriptive file Megatron had ever gotten before. He was truthfully unsure of what to do or how to prepare himself. The description didn't really give any major or personal details of what exactly the beetle was wanting to accomplish, and he didn't have the luxury of therapeutic friends to give him any information, so he was alone with practical rocket science here.

What did Bumblebee mean by _'he wanted to be able to feel again_ '? Why was he going to exposure therapy for it? Did it have something to do with Optimus? And final, why in the whole wide universe and all its dimensions would he choose Megatron as his therapist?

Megatron looked up at the time, nearly beading a drop of condensation at the bizarre meanings it revealed. He had spent over thirty minutes in his wake trying to figure out how to get past the whole ordeal of having Bumblebee as his patient, he forgot he had one currently waiting. To gather his thoughts, Megatron neatly closed the file, sat it down in his drawer and took a big swig of energon to dull the coppery taste of his bitten glossa. Bumblebee wasn't due for another two weeks. He had plenty of time to think Megatron otherwise, but for Megatron... It was going to be a long two weeks.

* * *

Two weeks later. 

  
Megatron stood up straight, facing the fine richness of his steel door like a young sparkling would to a class of teachers it was fixing to present to. He rubbed his helm as if to feel out any smudges or spots of dirt his polished frame might have missed during this mornings thorough shower. In his throat there itched the most annoying lump, and much like a hungry scraplet it stayed, choking him. Megatron clenched his denta. What was he even supposed to say? _'Greetings, Bumblebee, how are you feeling today? I'm sorry about Optimus Prime. You must feel terrible, I'm sure?'_ Ugh, it was so stupid!

Megatron heaved a heavy sigh, palming his temples in distress. Of course Optimus would be the last thing Bumblebee would want to be asked about. Megatron tended to forget, like most, that Bumblebee was merely Optimus Prime's lover. He wasn't Optimus Prime himself.

Shaking his helm, Megatron pulled his disheveled form together and attempted to relax his shoulders as he reached forward, sweaty digits meeting the satisfyingly cool metal of the door handle. He opened it slowly with measured precaution, and peeked his head out, searching for the iridescent pool of yellow just to clarify that he even showed up before he spoke his name. A part of him almost hoped he hadn't showed up because Megatron didn't know if he even could manage to voice his name or any words at all. But to his minor distress, there sat the young autobot on a bench, swinging his legs back and forth as he looked up at the old poetry etched on the smooth grey walls. He looked as subtle and as carefree as ever. His bright, charismatic demeanor lit up the very gloominess of the waiting room.

Megatron vented in and opened the door up further. "Bumblebee?" He thanked the very pits Tarn laid in that his voice didn't break.

The little, yellow autobot’s legs abruptly stopped swinging and his helm turned in the therapist's direction, his bright blue optics contrasted in a genuine smile. As if happily, Bumblebee sat up and jumped from his seat, still holding a smile as he walked down the broad expanse of the full waiting room. He looked blessed with grace and spontaneousness, giving off a breif essence of what was once Orion Pax.

Megatron nearly frowned. How had it come to this? He opened his door and allowed the small autobot to wander through. "Greetings," He forcefully strayed from the path of oblivious stupidity, "How are you feeling today?"

"Great, honestly," Bumblebee's joyous, full of life voice inquired as he looked around the office with curious optics, "How about you?"

Megatron wasn't used to being asked that question, and he was miles from being prepared to answer it when the sun felt like it was burning blisters through his routers. "I am doing well, thank you for asking," His olfactory almost rose in confusion at the sense of the question. Why did he care?

Bumblebee turned towards the comfortable looking chairs and invited himself in. "So... Exposure therapy, huh?" He randomly asked and turned around, using the arm rests to help plop himself back into the cushiony embrace of the chair.

"Yes... that is my job," Megatron tried not to sound awkward as he brought forth a fresh energon cube.

Bumblebee looked up at him curiously. "Do you like it?" He asked and reached up for the offered energon.

Megatron had to admit, the bot was really making himself at home here, and his questions were somewhat suspicious. "It has its own benefits, I must admit," He grazed his glossa with his denta, trying not to shift weight from one stiff leg to the other.

"Well don't be shy," Bumblebee huffed and smiled softly, "Sit down, haha! I thought you were supposed to be the therapist here?"

"Right, yes," Megatron took his chance to vent out a hot puff of distressed steam as he turned toward the master chair, "I saw that your files lack much description of why you are here today. Can you possibly tell me what exactly it is you are trying to feel again?"

"Simple," Bumblebee shrugged before taking a drink out of the energon cube, "Love."

Love? Megatron's processor repeated in deft, ghostly whispers of confusion. At least the part that was trying to focus was. His troubled mind set was still struggling to get over the intense fact that it was Bumblebee sitting before him; a bot that had been completely and thoroughly taken at the hands of Optimus Prime. A jewel that belonged to a legend everyone stood to cherish. An idle.

"Love?" Megatron voiced back, mentally slapping his thoughts back into focus, "What do you mean by that?"

"I don't know," Bumblebee shrugged again, his entire posture calm and nonchalant. It was honestly extremely irritating. Megatron was used to being professional when it came to calming down stressed patients. He wasn't anything when in came to a patient who seemed more contained than his own self did! "Ever since the war ended, I just haven't really been able to connect with anyone in a... you know... emotional level, I guess. I've tried and I just can't seem to make myself do it."

Megatron raised a curious optic ridge, "Do what, exactly?" This had to have been the most whacky mind ride he had ever been on. Seriously, he thought about offering Rung's services to him instead.

"Talk, touch, interface, open up," Bumblebee tilted his helm back and forth, giving the energon cube a bemused stare before looking up at the therapist, "Pretty much everything that revolves around love."

"And why is it that you believe that these achievements may not be being made?" Megatron asked, finally settling into his blaster fires of shock. His professional side was beginning to kick in but only briefly. He still was having trouble confiding some things in this situation.

Bumblebee gazed back down at his cube, legs dangling out in front of him. "I don't know."

Megatron’s face nearly twisted into shame. Bumblebee seemed to know everything so far, even how to simply sit down and drink energon like a normal mech. Most patients couldn't even do that. And Megatron's own mind set was on the other side of the world right now. "Do you think it has to do with your loss?" He asked, circuitry tight and almost busting to know.

Bumblebee sagged into his seat with a frustrated sounding groan, the cube of energon put to rest unceremoniously on his thigh as he held his forehelm with his free servo. "Why does everyone think that?" He asked rhetorically and threw his servo out like he was complaining to Primus itself, "I get it, Optimus Prime was a great leader, blah, blah, blah. He saved Cybertron and risked his life to end the war, but come on...."

Bumblebee sat up and glared coldly at the ground, "I'm tired of everyone thinking that he was the defined, perfect, gentlemech he made himself out to be."

Megatron went silent, his spark starting to thump wildly inside his chassis. "Are you implying that... he wasn't?" He asked, throat dry.

Bumblebee looked at him, his optics sad. "Yes..." His voice was soft and cold at the same time, "And I'm tired of everyone thinking that he was. There isn't a single day that goes by that I don’t hear about it; _'Well I'm sure Optimus was a great lover', 'You sure were lucky to have him', 'I bet he treated you right.'_ And just all kinds of scrap like that. I'm sick of it!"

Megatron’s optics were growing uncontrollably wide. "And why, if I may ask, does it bother you so much?"

"Because it isn't true!" Bumblebee finally combusted, sitting up straight so fast he had to catch the energon cube with shaking servos. He sat it on the table blindly and continued to exploit his deeply held emotions, "Optimus never loved me, ok? I didn't mean anything to him, and I'm so tired of everyone thinking that I did. I wish it were true, really, I wish I could agree... but I can't."

A silence filled the room. It was a type of silence that could make the shadows cry. Megatron's optics were now impossibly wide as he stared at the distressed minibot across from him. His spark felt shot through for some unknown reason and his processor went blank of any logical reasoning to embellish off of.

"Bumblebee," Megatron's voice, as much as it might scorn his career, became tasseled with serious concern, "Why do you say that? I'm sure Optimus Prime did-"

"No, he didn't," Bumblebee said coldly, lubricant gathering in the seams of his optics, "You don't know him like I did, ok, no one did. I wasn't anything more than just a nuisance to him, a complete waste of time! If I didn't feel like fragging, then he'd leave... just... leave... And he did it all the time."

Bumblebee's voice wavered at the end as he stared at the wall, optics slanted to keep them from leaking. All the while Megatron was being completely stricken by every word the small autobot spoke. It was incredulous, but sounded just as true as the brightest day. To think that Optimus Prime would actually act in such ways to his own lover? It was a loop in history. Megatron couldn’t believe that Bumblebee was lying especially after all these years and now he was finally opening up to him of all mechs.

"Why..." Megatron sat up, bringing his servos together as he licked his incredibly dry lips, "Why would he do that?"

Bumblebee shook his helm in loss. "I don't know..." He rubbed his face and plopped back in defeat, saying in sharp sadness, "And that wasn't the only thing he would do- I could come back from an accomplished mission with one blast mark and he'd be furious, wouldn't allow me to go out for a long time, wouldn't talk to me- he didn't even let me leave the base for the longest time! Can you believe that?"

Megatron could, actually. He was the reason for the isolation, but Optimus' behavior was very skeptical. "Bumblebee," Megatron began in the most understanding voice he could manage, "I know that you are upset and believe that Optimus didn't love you for these reasons, but... did you ever stop to think that he isolated you because he cared? Because he didn't want you to get hurt? And I know Optimus, he's the type to over exaggerate whenever one of his team members gets harmed and you were his lover, Bumblebee. Of course he's going to overreact when you become exposed to harms way."

"That's not the point though!" Bumblebee stood up and threw his arms toward the ground, "He should have been able to trust me- to trust that when I go on a mission I'll finish it, when I go outside I won't get hurt, that there will be nights when I'm tired and would rather be held instead of..."

Bumblebee's legs wobbled and he collapsed to his knees like a cracked statue. He shielded his broken face in the hidden confinements of his cold palms, crying to the voice he knew would never be able to hear him again. "He chose to die," Bumblebee mourned in a tiny voice, "We could have helped him, he could have stayed... stayed with me... But he didn't!"

Megatron was at a loss. A loss of all losses, really. He wasn't sure where to even start. Much of the bot's reasons were highly supportive for why he felt the way he did. It was understandable for him to feel such ways. Megatron wouldn't deny that. He just didn't know how he could help someone in need like this. He was an exposure therapist, not an emotional one.

So, to his last standing wit, Megatron stood up and slowly walked around the table, stopping right in front of the quietly crying autobot. From there he kneeled down, getting to his knees so that he wasn't looming over him like an a shamed parent. Reaching out his servo, all it took was one brush against Bumblebee's shoulder to get him to collapse forward, right into his chest. Startled somewhat, Megatron immediately wrapped his arms around the small autobot and merely sat there, allowing him to mourn and break apart in his hold.

Bumblebee felt like the cruelest spark eater had just torn open his chassis and devoured his very giving life force. Everything quivered as his vents worked on maximum to help calm him down. He was broken, used goods now. Optimus Prime was gone and all the trust, love and hope he had ever known with him. He sucked in a sharp vent. It was all over, had been for a long time. The moment Optimus Prime made that choice, the dam of nails punctured Bee's spark with the dreaded truth. He was the ripples of the pond and now that he was gone, it was clear what Bumblebee had ever meant to him.

Bumblebee wasn't sure how long he had been brutally sobbing, but once he began to quiet, he took notice to the big, warm arms wrapped around him, and the very beating chassis his face was squashed against. Megatron. His spark ached with relief. He sighed, vents calming as he moved in closer to the bigger mech. Megatron smelt like rich solvents, toasty iron and welcoming energon goodies. Bumblebee vented out. His arms were big too. Even bigger than Optimus', thicker, more divine and detailed. He was like a walking metal pillow made specifically to encompass him completely.

Megatron stroked the bot's lower back gently, soothingly, trying to get him to relax. He had never had a patient break down on him like this before. They usually ended up storming out or hiding in their immeasurable fear. That said, none of those patients really broke down in the way Bumblebee was right now, in his arms. Megatron moved one servo up to the back of the bot's small, yellow helm and cupped it, rubbing the metal there gently.

Bumblebee, now quiet, laid still in the therapist's hold, enjoying his kind, gentle touch and the way his big, warm body felt like an inviting berth. He whimpered softly when he began rubbing his helm, his large fingers brushing his horns at times. This wasn't Optimus Prime. Nothing could ever compare to him, but all people had their own ways of being incompatible theirselves. Bumblebee tried to hug the grey mech harder, wanting to disappear into the safety of his very existence and never, ever leave.

Megatron slowed the movements of his rubbing into a halt. Below him, Bumblebee groaned, "Don't stop... feels nice."

"You didn't come here for therapy, did you?" Megatron asked.

The silence provided the answer.

"Why have you come here?" Megatron had to ask because this was getting ridiculous and the suspension was driving him to the pit.

Bumblebee shifted in his hold, turning his helm and stroking the expanse of his bulky chest with his nimble digits. "Because you're the only one who I wanted to talk to," He answered quietly and snuggled back into the mech's gentle servos, wanting him to rub again.

Megatron’s spark throbbed, "Why me?"

Bumblebee was still for a moment, projecting the haunting silence that made the entire room groan, but eventually subsided. "Thought if I talked to you, I might find a part of Optimus, but..." He sighed and pressed his face into the therapist's chest, "I didn't."

"What did you find?" Megatron wondered out loud.

Bumblebee looked up at him and blinked, his optics that of defeat, loss, sorrow and revived hope. "I think... apart of myself," He admitted and moved upwards.

Megatron supported him with his servos, growing curious and somewhat anticipated by the small servos cupping his face. Bumblebee was no Optimus Prime and he probably would never be, but that was okay. He was his own person, and Megatron might not ever be able to tell him whether or not Optimus loved him, but he could at least give him what he obviously never had.

Love.

Bumblebee gasped lightly when their lips made contact, and Megatron reacted in kind. This wasn't meant to be a session of anything exposed besides feelings and pain. Both bots went in trying to find a piece of Optimus Prime, but actually only found an even bigger part of theirselves. And the one thing that Bumblebee will never know is that Optimus Prime did love him. He loved him more than anything. His nights of longing for rarely shared love were so intensely desired that if ever shut off, he would grow mad with lust and cravings. The thought of his beloved getting hurt caused him to be furious and act out of focus. He isolated the one he loved because he didn't want him to be taken away. And he chose to die so that Bumblebee could at least live his life with the trust Optimus was too afraid to give him. 


End file.
